


"...Like a Worn out Recording of a Favorite Song"

by elviaprose



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elviaprose/pseuds/elviaprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrant's willing to admit Avon knows a few tricks he doesn't. Just this once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the lovely Corngold!

Tarrant stood up from the flight deck sofa, stretching ostentatiously and leaving his cards facing upwards, visible to the others. A seven and three deuces. Not a winner, but not bad.

“It’s all getting a bit dull, these games, if you ask me,” Vila sighed. “Drop your cards in the pile, everybody.”

“Should we start playing for stakes, then, Vila?” Dayna asked, laughing as Vila gathered up the cards. “I wouldn’t want you to get bored. Or perhaps you’re just tired of losing.”

“Then we’ve found least one sentiment Avon and Vila share in common.” Tarrant fixed his eyes on Avon.

“Oh, be fair, Tarrant. Avon’s won the past three games,” Dayna replied. He’d hoped Dayna would say that. They were all getting a little too predictable, but at least he could make it work in his favor.

“Who said anything about games?” Tarrant flashed his teeth. 

“You’re repeating yourself, Tarrant,” Avon drawled. 

“I thought you said I hadn’t said anything particularly memorable,” Tarrant shot back. He really did have it down to a science, didn’t he? Still, it was something of a pyrrhic victory, as it meant acknowledging the rut they were all in.

“What sort of stakes, Dayna?” Vila had either taken Avon’s side or just didn’t want to watch another sniping match between them. Tarrant didn’t know or much care which it was. 

“Well, not money, obviously--”

“What’s obvious about that? What’s so wrong with money?” Vila interrupted Dayna. Tarrant watched the cards arc from one of Vila’s hands to the other in a perfect cascade.

“We could wager lessons. Whoever wins gets to have a lesson from any of the losers. I could teach you a thing or two about weapons, or Tarrant could teach you a bit of fancy flying.”

“Yes,” said Cally, speaking for the first time in nearly a quarter of an hour. “I think it is a fine idea, Dayna.” 

“Lessons? Sounds like enough to make any reasonable person want to lose,” Vila sighed. 

“Good,” Dayna pulled her legs up, so she could sit cross-legged on the sofa. “Maybe that’ll stop you being such a bad loser, for once.”

“And what do you say, Tarrant?” Avon asked, gaze hard, “If you agree, you will have to admit that there is anything in this world you do not already know. I imagine that will be difficult for you.”

He’d considered it before, and here was a perfect opening. Did he dare? Yes, he did. 

“Oh, I’m glad to admit it, Avon. In fact, I’m certain you can teach me a thing or two.” 

Avon’s eyebrows lifted. “Such as?”

“You’ll just have to see, won’t you?”

Let Avon wonder for a while.

***

Tarrant was almost sure Avon had thrown that next round. Curiosity was one of Avon’s weaknesses, vanity another, and Tarrant had played to both. 

“I’ll pay you a visit at 19:00 hours, then,” Tarrant said, grinning. “For my lesson.” 

***

Tarrant studied Avon’s room. Spartan. A narrow bed just like his own. Crimson sheets, which pleased Tarrant more than it ought. He hadn’t known Avon fancied the color. 

“Well, Tarrant, what is this about?” Avon asked. “Didn’t the FSA do a thorough enough job on you?”

“As a matter of fact, in one respect, the experience was rather limited. You’ve had your share of men, haven’t you, Avon?”

He watched Avon go still. Execute a snap roll, and whoever is in pursuit, crack pilot or not, he’ll freeze for a moment at his controls, just watching you spin. 

“And if I have?” There. Avon was quick. Already back in motion.

“I was coming to that. I’d like you to show me how it’s done. I already know how to please a woman, of course.” 

“Well, now. I expect you’d like a hands on demonstration?” Avon sounded amused. 

“I find that’s usually best, don’t you?”

Avon stood for a moment, considering. 

“Very well. Strip, then,” Avon said finally, beginning to remove his own clothes, carefully deliberate. He was doing his best not to seem human, as usual. “One can make an erotic production out of undressing a lover, but as the same principles apply regardless of the sex of one’s partner and since, as you say, you know how to please a woman, such a demonstration would no doubt be tedious for you.” Avon’s tone was faintly mocking, as though he doubted Tarrant knew anything about making love with anyone at all.

Peeling Avon out of all of those layers had rather appealed to him, but never mind. He removed his own clothes. 

“Now, lie on the bed. Do not assume you know what he likes, simply because you are a man and so is he. You will have to be systematic in your explorations of his body. Touch with hands and lips.”

After Tarrant had sprawled himself across the sheets to good effect--he knew red looked smart on him--Avon knelt above him. To Tarrant's surprise he began with Tarrant's cock, with firm strokes, but that didn't last. Avon soon switched to lighter tweaking, then to brushing his fingertips across Tarrant's inner thighs. When Avon flashed a smile that didn't touch his eyes and abandoned Tarrant's cock entirely in favor of his nipples, he decided he'd had enough of Avon's torture--good as it felt. He turned over, hoping the view might entice Avon into getting on with it. 

Of course not. Hard touches, light touches, light nips, and harder bites on his ribs, shoulder blades, backs of the knees—that he particularly liked. He found he was moaning damply into Avon’s pillow. He hoped Avon wouldn’t mind about that, but thought he probably would. Maybe the pillow would dry out before they were through.

“The simplest way to do this will be for you to remain lying face down, as you are now." A touch of humor there. "Kneeling is also an option, but penetration will be deeper that way. Now, I’m lubricating one finger, and I am going to insert it. Try to relax.” 

Tarrant knew that he should be concentrating—he did want to learn how it was done-- but he was experiencing the most incredible sensations. He found he was dangerously close to orgasm. Well, he wasn’t going to finish off like this. He had better control than that. He began to recite poetry in his head—a feat of memory seemed just the thing to distract him. There, that was better. 

Avon was talking, telling him he thought he was ready for the real thing. Tarrant thought so too. 

***

“Were all of this in earnest, I would probably be moaning profanities and praise into your ear. I trust you grasp the principle. The effect is generally erotic. Care to try?” Avon’s voice was still flat, passionless, lecturing. Tarrant’s legs twitched. Damn, he didn’t think he’d ever been so desperate to finish.

“Not particularly,” Tarrant gasped. 

“Tell me. How good I am,” Avon grated. 

For the first time, Tarrant sensed that Avon might want something from him. And if he gave it, gave it just right, the game could change completely, perhaps irrevocably. He hesitated. Though he wasn’t one for deep analysis, particularly with Avon, he was aware that Avon’s pedantry was a sort of protection. He let himself imagine words that could make this into something…absolutely suicidal. He could tell Avon he was perfect, magnificent. He could tell him he wanted him. See how the man would react to that. He’d have to be insane. Was he insane? 

“You’re pretty good, Avon, but I bet I could do better.” 

“Could you, now?” No trace of disappointment. Perhaps he’d been mistaken, after all.

“Face it. I’m in my prime, and you’re past yours. You should let yourself enjoy my body more. Cut the lecturing nonsense. Because ordinarily I’d be out of your league, wouldn’t I, Avon?” 

“Careful, Tarrant. Or hasn’t it occurred to you that you are in a compromised position?”

“Yes, I’m entirely at your mercy,” Tarrant said, as breezily as possible. He probably could have done better if he wasn’t so desperately aroused. Another verse of that poem—yes, that would do it.

Avon took one hand off the bed and trailed it lightly over the bumps of Tarrant’s spine. Then, without warning, he raked his nails brutally hard over Tarrant’s back. 

Tarrant yelped. The pain shattered his control, and he came. “Damn,” he gasped, “Damn.” Avon kept thrusting into him until he, too, had finished. Avon came silently, but a moment later Tarrant could hear him trying not to gasp for air. The bastard had been holding his breath! 

Tarrant was sweaty and flushed beneath Avon, his back was stinging, and his muscles were shaking a little with fatigue. In other words, he was shagged out. “I’m…” he started to say, but he was still too breathless. In. Out. There. “I’m really not much for sado-masochism. I was doing my damndest not to finish off and you broke my concentration,” he said.

“Ah,” Avon said, dryly. “Too bad.” As Avon pulled out—ouch!--Tarrant grabbed him and pulled him down beside him. He took in Avon’s sweat drenched hair with a grin. Suddenly he wanted to kiss Avon, so he did, hard and long.

Avon pushed him away, but he didn’t look too cross. “Now you can get out,” he said. 

“Yes, alright, Avon. That was informative. Thank you.” Tarrant tidied himself up as best he could, then dressed.

Tarrant couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so thoroughly. There were rewards to be reaped for being humble, confessing ignorance, admitting a weak spot here and there. He should probably remember that, he told himself. Shake himself out of his old predictable ways. But hell, who was he kidding?


	2. "Will you still need me, will  you still feed me..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aralias provided many good ideas, lots of encouragement, and an exceedingly efficient editing job. Corngold provided many good ideas, lots of encouragement, and an exceedingly thorough editing job. Anything you don't like is mine.
> 
> This is more a sequel than a true "second chapter."

Avon made an excellent tyrant, Tarrant thought, if not a convincing leader of men. They'd teleported down to Del 10 at Avon's insistence, for what he'd claimed would be a pleasant and relaxed evening off, and now here they were, watching in fascinated horror as Avon took the polite wait staff of the planet’s finest dining establishment to pieces.

After conducting an interrogation that would have put the Federation’s best torturer to shame, Avon was demanding his fillet be prepared with so many modifications it was bound to be unrecognizable. There wasn’t a man alive whose memory was a match for that kind of detail, Tarrant was certain; the waiter was bound to forget what Avon had wanted on the side, what he’d wanted omitted, what he’d wanted added in, what he’d wanted steamed and what he’d wanted boiled, and they’d all have to suffer this again. 

And Avon still had not told him why they were on Del 10. Vila had readily volunteered that Avon had always wanted to go but never had the chance, back when they were with Blake, but Vila was hardly the most reliable source. And it didn’t explain why now, or why Avon was refusing to tell him why now: “It is a pleasure planet, Tarrant. I have seen you gamely teleport onto the edge of a volcano and plunge into a black hole. I see no reason why this should worry you.”

The waiter was once again reeling off their options with practiced joie de vivre. Was reeling them off, until Avon interrupted him again. Tarrant made up his mind to order whatever the waiter recommended, if he ever got the chance.

**

The food was good, but the wine was excellent, and they drank it steadily. Sweet, with bits of fruit soaking in it. The fruit crunched wonderfully between the teeth and made one really taste the drink before swallowing it. Avon drank slowly, but Tarrant caught him refilling his glass twice. Well, he had to have something while he waited for his food to come back to him.

“How is everything? Is there anything else I can do for you?” the waiter asked Tarrant, ignoring the rest of the table in general and Avon in particular. 

“Not for the moment, thank you,” Tarrant replied as politely as possible. The waiter smiled at him. 

“Enjoying playing the gentleman?” Avon asked, mocking. Then, changeable as anything, Avon smiled, braced himself on Tarrant’s shoulder, and leaned close to speak into his ear. “He likes you, Tarrant. You could have him, if you want him.” 

Damn. Just like that, he was hard, and not for the waiter. Tarrant grinned in appreciation.

He flicked one of the white flowers away with his fork, cut a neat slice of meat, chewed, then chased the bite with more wine. Eating fine food while aroused was a real pleasure, he thought. 

“Avon,” Vila said. “Can you get him back over here? Let’s get another bottle, why don’t we?” 

Avon raised his eyebrows. 

“Come on! It’s not a man’s birthday every day!”

“But it is not your birthday, is it, Vila?” Cally offered up a small smile that suggested she thought Vila was telling another of his lies. 

“Not mine,” Vila said, tipping back in his seat. “Avon’s. Isn’t it, Avon?” 

Avon said nothing, but flashed a you-caught-me smile. 

“How did you know?” Dayna asked.

“Only thing that made sense of how he’s been acting, wasn’t it? Probably a big one. Forty, I’d bet. What about you, Tarrant? How old’s old Avon, would you say?”

“Well, I’d say thirty, but—“ he paused for effect. “Only because, as you say, Avon, I like to play the gentleman.”

“Nothing wrong with getting old,” Vila told Avon. “Another year alive’s nothing to worry about. Now what about that wine?”

**

Tarrant stood on his bed, bounced twice, then began stripping in front of the mirrored wall that faced him. 

Once naked, he studied himself. He’d eaten too much, stretched out his stomach a little. He’d also had a bit too much to drink. So had they all. 

He felt wild, daring, heedless. Not at all ready for sleep. 

Going to bed with Avon a second time wasn’t wise. Not tonight, when Avon was so off-balance, so unpredictable. 

He should wait. But he wasn’t going to.

A long bath to take the edge off, and he’d pay him a visit. 

**

Tarrant rapped on the door to Avon’s room. 

“Well, what is it?” Avon was in a dressing gown, which was a pity. He’d hoped he might undress him, this time. 

His kiss was a bit awkwardly planted, but not bad, really. He pulled Avon into a tight hold and kept kissing, kept pressing, pressing Avon back into the room. 

They were tangled so close, their legs hit the bed almost at the same instant. Tarrant was hardly aroused, despite their proximity, too focused on getting Avon where he wanted him to feel much.

Then, with a push from Tarrant, they were down, Avon beneath him on the wide bed. He’d meant to start in on Avon in earnest before looking him in the face, thinking that was his best chance, but pulled away, surprised, at the sound of Avon’s laughter. The feel of it shaking his shoulders-- harsh and grating, but a real laugh. Avon’s head was thrown back.

“Tell me, Avon,” Tarrant said. “What do you like?”

“You wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Haven’t I already?” Tarrant kissed him again.

**

Avon had chosen their position, and it was a good one: Avon on top of Tarrant, Tarrant inside Avon. 

Avon enjoys this, he thought, watching Avon’s face. He enjoys sex with men. He enjoys sex with me, Del Tarrant. Watching sweat bead on Avon’s brow, watching him bite his lower lip in obvious ecstasy, he found himself almost unable to believe what he was seeing.

It was good, it was better than good, but Tarrant wanted more. 

Maneuvering their bodies so that Avon lay on his back, Tarrant on top of him, without breaking their clench would prove quite a challenge, though Avon himself wouldn’t pose much of one. Not balanced as Avon was, and with his muscles shaky with the strain of their position. 

Perhaps he ought to stop manhandling Avon whenever he wanted something particular, he thought, but the alternative was a verbal negotiation, and that was just asking for trouble. 

When Avon had paused with Tarrant fully inside him, Tarrant tipped them, tumbled them sideways. 

“Ah—Tarrant. You idiot! _Tarrant!_ ” 

Then again, when it came to trouble, he wasn’t exactly down and safe now, was he? 

He was still inside Avon. So far, so good. Now to get Avon onto his back. There. A bit of discomfort for them both, probably more for Avon, since the motion had caused a bit of rough and uncoordinated penetration, but all in all he thought he’d managed rather well. Avon’s breath came in gasps.

“How was that?” Tarrant managed, out of breath himself. 

“Terrible.” 

“Well, Avon, you taught me everything I know.”

“Yes. Well.” Avon bared his teeth, paused for breath. “No one could call you a quick study.”

By way of a reply, and to show he wasn’t beaten, Tarrant thrust in hard. Then he pulled out most of the way—slowly, slowly, and then pushed back in, just as deliberately. He managed to lean down to Avon, so they lay chest to chest, and kissed him on the cheek. 

Avon raised a hand, as if to ward him off, grit his teeth, then let the hand drop. 

“I’ll be gentle with you,” Tarrant said with a grin, grabbed Avon’s hand and drew it to his lips. 

He kept his movements careful. Not painfully slow, but careful. He wasn’t sure about Avon, but he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Avon threaded his hands into Tarrant’s hair and pulled gently, and Tarrant groaned, then groaned again.

“You’re noisy,” Avon murmured, hands clenching tighter in Tarrant’s curls, eyes slipping closed. 

Tarrant forced himself to focus on replying. He stopped moving, reached between them, and began wanking Avon off with firm strokes. “Yes, I am, aren’t I? I wasn’t always. I didn’t want my brother to hear me through the wall, and I learned to keep silent. But I found with women they preferred me to show my appreciation, and you’ve expressed some interest along those lines yourself.” 

He awaited a reply from Avon, but instead Avon just gasped once, a sharp, ragged breath in, and came. It was totally unexpected and one of the best things that had ever happened to Tarrant in his life. 

**

Tarrant drifted far enough out of his doze to realize that Avon was getting dressed. A few hours had slipped away from him, but it wasn’t even close to morning. That was a lucky turn. He’d wanted to undress Avon, and if he played things right, he’d have his chance now.

He watched Avon from beneath his eyelids. His movements as he fastened clasps and dragged up zippers seemed even slower, more deliberate, than when he’d undressed the last time with Tarrant. He seemed weary. 

He waited until Avon was nearly at the door before calling out to him.

“Where are you going?” 

“The casino.”

“In the middle of the night? And with me in your bed, ready and willing?” 

“What, again, Tarrant?”

“Why not?” Tarrant stretched showily.

“Having you again will only— I’m tired of games.”

“And that’s why you’re going down to the casino?”

“Well, now. Perhaps I’m simply tired of you.” Avon gave him a nasty smile. 

“Or perhaps I’ve simply tired you out. If you’re not up to it,” Tarrant grinned as insufferably as he could. “I understand.”

“No,” Avon snapped, “you don’t.”

“So you’re a day older, and forty. What does it matter?”

“It didn’t.” 

“What?” Whatever he might have expected, it hadn’t been that. Leave it to Avon.

“I was forty a year ago today.”

“You must have been insufferable.”

Avon’s lips curved up. “Probably, but it was just another day. Unremarkable.”

“That’s difficult to imagine. Why the change?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The company I keep, perhaps. Reckless as you are, Tarrant, I’ve had friends more hazardous to my health. Why worry about getting old, when you can worry about getting killed?”

“Then things are looking up for you.” 

“So it seems,” Avon said, and stalked out of the room. 

“I’ll be damned,” Tarrant said, into the empty room. “Now what to make of that?”

**

Tarrant woke with a start to the sensation of paper sticking to his face. He’d decided not to go back to his own room. He’d been physically quite comfortable, and mentally—well, mentally, increasingly confused. He’d finally allowed the thrill of staying in Avon’s bed, even—especially—knowing Avon might be angry with him when he came back, to settle the matter. Perhaps unwisely, he thought now.

His hand reached up to explore and came away holding a fifty credit note. 

“Unfortunately,” Avon was saying, not sounding angry at all, “with Orac engaged on teleport duty, I couldn’t cheat the house as spectacularly as I might have hoped, but I know a few tricks of my own. I worked in a casino at seventeen.” 

“You’re actually drunk, for once in your life,” Tarrant said. He must be, to be telling Tarrant tales of his youth. Besides, he smelled of the stuff. He must have taken a shot or two of something hard, on top of the wine. 

“It’s possible.” Avon grinned, settled himself beside Tarrant on the bed, which was covered with his ill-gotten gains. “I want you, Tarrant. On a bed of credits. Another cheap thrill.”

Tarrant pushed himself up to a sitting position. Was Avon calling him cheap? Now that he couldn’t let pass. 

“I’ll try anything twice, even you, but this will be three times.” He took Avon by the shoulders. “I didn’t think this needed to be said, but with the way you’re carrying on---I want you to know that I won’t make a habit of sleeping with anyone I don’t respect, or who doesn’t respect me. Is that understood?” 

Avon looked straight into his eyes. “Understood, Tarrant.”

Tarrant found himself touching Avon’s face. “I admit, I didn’t understand much of all of that, earlier.” 

“Ah, but I was counting on you. Not to.” Avon leaned in and kissed him. 

Well now, it looked like he was going to get to undress Avon, after all. Tarrant worked his fingers into Avon’s jacket and began to pull apart the clasps. It had been a hell of a night, and there were three hours still until morning.

**

“Well, Tarrant. You’re not entirely unpromising. I might even say my lesson made an impression, after all.” 

“Mmm.” He found himself drowsily considering. It didn’t seem so impossible that if Tarrant ever made love with anyone who’d also been with Avon, they might recognize a bit of Avon’s style.

The thought was appalling and appealing almost in equal measure. Don’t be fanciful, Tarrant, he thought to himself. You’re your own man. 

Besides, the universe was large and dark and vast. Plenty of lovers to be had with whom Avon hadn’t had the pleasure. 

Tarrant pulled the damp sheets close. He decided not to bother to check if Avon had any. If loose credits could keep anyone warm, it was Avon.

“Tarrant!” Avon grated in his ear. He felt sharp tug at the sheets. 

Well, he’d been wrong before. Once or twice.

Anyway, Avon felt good, pressed against him like that. 

With that thought, Tarrant fell the rest of the way into sleep.


End file.
